Willmore: Pilot
by John R. Lindensmith
Summary: Based on the XFiles Game. Willmore investigates the smuggling of Black Oil and a secret government branch. Super soldiers, black oil, Doggett and Reyes, and a mysterious man named Angel.


**Willmore: Pilot (#1.01)**

by John R. Lindensmith

Teaser 

Willmore sat in his car, watching the warehouse carefully.

"I don't see anyone yet," he said.

His voice crackled over a small radio in a surveillance van. Shanks and Mary Astadourian sat in that van, watching all the monitors placed in front of them.

"Ditto, we have no visual," Mary responded.

Willmore lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes, to get a closer look at the warehouse and small dock that ran out from it. All he saw was an empty boat that sat on the lake next to it. But then, two figures walked out of the warehouse and onto the dock. Another man joined the two, coming out from behind a second warehouse, carrying a suitcase.

"I have a visual!" Willmore yelled excitedly.

Shanks picked up a small mike sitting next to the monitors. "All units, wait for my call."

The SWATs waited in another van, parked in a more forested area.

The man with the suitcase slowly extended it toward the two other men.

"All units! All units! Move, move, move!" Shanks ordered.

Willmore leapt from his car, pistol in hand, running toward the warehouse.

The SWAT scrambled from their van, as did Mary and Shanks. The SWATs chambering their rifles.

The three dealers jumped at the sight of the team rushing toward them.

"Put down the suitcase and put your hands in the air!" Willmore yelled, as he raced onto the deck beside the warehouse. He was soon joined by Shanks, Mary, and the SWAT.

The dealer did as told, slowly setting the suitcase down on the dock. But one of the men quickly grabbed the suitcase right after it had just been set down, and ran into the warehouse with it; Willmore quickly running after him. The other man tried to follow him, but the dealer who had brought the suitcase grabbed the other man by the leg and flung him over his shoulder and onto the other side of the deck. He was obviously not pleased with the suitcase being taken, even though he had given it to them. He drew his gun, ready to shoot the man lying painfully on the deck.

"Drop your weapon! You will be fired upon!" Shanks ordered the dealer.

The man lying on the deck quickly dove into the water, next to a small tug, but the dealer shot him right as he went under, blood pluming from the man's back.

Once the crack of the gun was heard, the SWAT opened fire. The bullets hit the man, but there was no effect.

The SWAT stood there, speechless. Then the dealer started toward them, they fired at him at every step, but still there was no effect.

Willmore pursued the other man with the suitcase, chasing him up a metal stairway and onto the roof of the warehouse. A copter sat up there, and the man leaped into it, quickly roaring up the engine. The copter took off the top of the warehouse, but not before Willmore quickly leaped through the sliding door, right before it closed.

The dealer threw the SWAT team across the deck, into the water, and through the tug's front window, with simple sweeps of his arms. Shanks shot at the dealer in a feeble attempt to make him stop, but the dealer simply turned to face him, and quickly shot him in the shoulder. Shanks fell to the deck, holding his bloodied shoulder in pain. Mary quickly rushed to his side, kneeling next to him. Then they noticed the dealer staring at them, and taking slow steady steps toward them.

Willmore, and the man with the suitcase, fought for the copter controls, until the man landed a punch on Willmore's face and sent him plunging into the steering console. He fumbled across the wheel, sending the copter spinning in a downward death spiral.

The dealer stood only feet away from Mary and Shanks now, his face menacing and his eyes icy cold. Suddenly, they noticed the copter spinning out of control toward them. The dealer barely noticed, until he felt the blades of the copter thrash into his body. One of the blades snapped from the copter and buried itself into the dealer's back. The copter then tilted the other way and slid across the long dock, snapping some timber until it came crashing through the front of the warehouse.

The dealer stood there, the blade still stuck in his back. At first he seemed like he was about to fall over, but then he stood up straight, fine and alive, ready to kill. He pulled the blade from his back and dropped it onto the dock with a metallic clang. Then he took a step forward, but froze, leaning over a bit, as if about to fall over again.

Shanks and Mary looked at the man, not sure what was about to happen, and exactly who or what this man was.

Willmore slowly crawled out of the crashed copter, the windows cracked and shattered and the blades all bent up. The other man in the copter was dead, his face covered in blood. He had taken the impact with the window. Willmore pulled the man's suitcase from the copter, slowly limping along the ground until he got a fair distance from the crashed wreck, then he opened the case. Inside lay a small cylindrical glass container of some sort, holding a black fluid.

A grayish rock-like material began to grow across the man's waistline, spreading upward across his chest and down his legs. It seemed as if he was being turned to stone. The dealer gaged, his head shaking a little, as the rocky surface climbed up his neck and then finally, onto his face.

Mary and Shanks could only look on in horror at this mysterious thing that was taking place before them.

The man had become a total mass of cracked, grayish rock. Then suddenly, he left the ground and flew forward like a speeding torpedo. Mary quickly ducked her head, as the stone body came flying at them. The dealer's body ended up in the side of a nearby car, shattering the windows and sending the car rolling onto its side.

"Mary, Shanks, are you okay?" Willmore asked, as he came running from the warehouse.

"Shanks is down; he's been shot in the shoulder." Mary yelled back, slowly getting to her feet..

"I'm fine, Mary...," Shanks said as he tried to get up, but the searing pain in his shoulder held him back.

"Stay down, Shanks," Mary ordered.

"Look at this." Willmore stuck the small vial of black liquid in her face.

Mary grabbed it from his hand, examining it in her own. "What is it?"

Willmore ignored her comment, watching a couple of the SWATS get back to their feet, and others still climbing out of the water.

"Craig?" Mary asked.

"Remember my case into Mulder and Scully's disappearance?"

"You mean..."

"I think it's the Black Oil. I know you think the idea is a little crazy, but I've seen it with my own eyes, and I'm pretty sure that's what this is. It's all here. The smugglers, the warehouse, the harbor..."

Mary just stared back at him, not sure what to say.

"Mary?"

"We've just experienced something a bit weird, here." She pointed to the tipped over car.

"What happened?" Willmore asked.

"He just...turned to stone and flew right into that car."

Willmore shook his head. "What have we stumbled upon here?"

Mary raised the vial of black liquid toward the sky a bit. "You think this really links to your previous case?"

Willmore reached into his pocket, and pulled out a sleek, metal cylinder; then pushed a sliding button on the side, ejecting a long pick from the top. It was the stiletto.

Mary looked down at the weapon in his hand in shock.

The image of the mysterious black man who had given it to him flashed into Willmore's head.

"You're gonna need it again," he had said. "You're gonna need it again, soon."

ACT I 

Willmore strolled into the hallway of the small FBI Field Office in Seattle where he worked. He quickly passed by his office, almost passing the second office in the hall, but then froze. He leaned in the doorway of the second office, the empty room staring back at him. This had been Cook's office. He stepped into the room, pulling a small name plate off the desk. It looked so lonely there all by itself on the vacant mass of wood. It was Cook's. No one had ever bothered to move it.

Willmore remembered that day in the office when Cook was sharing his case assignments with him, right before he had met with Skinner in Shanks office. He had thought Cook was his friend. Then the image, the image that had been plastered in his mind and probably would never leave, of Scully jabbing Cook in the back of the neck with the stiletto, his body slowly falling over onto the ground, and the thick black liquid oozing out of the back of his head.

Willmore sadly placed the name plate back down onto the desk and headed to Shanks office. He tapped on the door, waiting eagerly for Shanks to answer.

"Come in!" Shanks hollered.

Willmore slowly opened the door and entered. Shanks sat in his usual place at the desk, looking over some files.

"Oh, Willmore! Take a seat." Shanks greeted, looking up from the case file.

"Hey." Willmore took a seat in front of the desk. "How's your shoulder?"

Shanks gave it a soft rub with his hand. "It's doing better."

"So, exactly what happened out there? Mary said that man turned to stone. What's that all about?"

"I'm not sure what that was. I've never seen anything like that in my life."

"Is there still an investigation?" Willmore asked.

"Yeah. Did you get that vial sent to the Crime Lab?"

Willmore just sat there, speechless.

Shanks looked up from his file, making sure Willmore was still alive. "Willmore?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Willmore sighed. "You don't know what you're dealing with here."

"What are you talking about?"

"I think its Black Oil."

Shanks shook his head. "Oh, that. It's over Willmore. That investigation was closed long ago."

"It's not over. It's never over! This stuff is dangerous, we don't need it leaping into anybody's body."

"Why do you think they would smuggle this stuff?"

"I don't know. Doesn't seem like they'd have any need to smuggle an alien virus, that would just end up harming them. Maybe they were just trying to get it back to it's spaceship, and get it off this planet."

Shanks bursted into laughter, rubbing his head.

"What?" Willmore asked.

"Oh, nothing. It's just that we do serious work here in the bureau, and here we are talking about alien viruses trying to get back to their spaceships."

Willmore smiled. "I know, it sounds ridiculous."

"Listen Willmore," Shanks leaned forward in his chair, "I need you to take that stuff, whatever it is, down to the Crime Lab. It's the law. It does not belong to us, it's evidence from a crime scene."

Willmore immediately stood up. "I can't do that!"

"If you don't, I will!" Shanks said, pointing a boney finger at Willmore, then he leaned back into his chair. "So, what are you gonna do?"

"So, what do you got for me, Will my man," John Amis asked as Willlmore came through the front door of the Crime Lab.

John Amis was a friend of Willmore's for a long time now. An African American, about the same age as him. He often looked at evidence that Willmore picked up at crime scenes.

The crime lab was like home to Willmore. The small building and all its wonders of crime solving magic. And the thing he loved the most was the tack board, with weird columns from tabloids posted on it. A favorite was the article about aliens killing JFK.

Willmore extended the vial to Amis, at his place behind the counter. Across the counter was another room, which usually only the lab workers were allowed, but Willmore was often allowed to go behind the counter.

Amis reached for the vial with the mysterious black liquid, but Willmore quickly drew it back.

"What are you doing?" Amis asked, a bit confused.

"Maybe you should let me open this."

"Why?"

"This stuff may be dangerous. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Man, I deal with all kinds of dangerous stuff all the time."

Willmore shook his head. "You don't understand. This stuff is like a virus. Once it is exposed to one man, he can pass it on to another."

"Sounds like you should of had this stuff quarantined."

"Yeah, but most quarantines don't quarantine alien viruses."

Amis bursted into laughter. "So, that's what this is. You've never been quite the same since that investigation, have you?"

"Listen, I've seen this stuff literately jump into a man and take control of his body."

Amis shrugged. "Whatever you say, man."

Willmore walked behind the counter, using a special door on the right. On his way in, he handed the stiletto to Amis.

"Here. If you see this black stuff begin to swim over my eyes, I want you to use this on me." Willmore slid the small button on the side of the metal tube upward, the small pick sliding out with a metallic hiss.

"Are you crazy?"

"You gotta trust me!"

Amis shook his head, but hesitantly took the stiletto from his hand.

Willmore slowly slid the metal top off the vial, ready to stick his finger into the liquid. His heart raced as he extended his finger into the narrow vial. He was expecting the Oil to crawl up into his finger and work its way up into his eyes any second now.

Willmore jumped, quickly drawing his finger out of the vial.

"Are you okay?" Amis asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just get jumpy when I'm sticking my fingers into a possible virus, ya know?."

Amis smiled.

Willmore put his finger to his nose and sniffed. "It's nothing but plain ol' motor oil."

Amis let out a heavy sigh of relief, but he noticed that Willmore didn't seem to have the same expression on his face; he actually looked disappointed. "What's wrong?"

"Why would anyone smuggle oil?" Willmore asked.

"Remember the lead you found at the smuggler's site last time?" Amis said. "Maybe it's just a decoy."

Willmore nodded. "Yeah, but one thing bothers me."

"What?"

"The dealer who brought the suitcase shot one of the men he gave it to. I think it might have been a trap."

"So, the men who were suppose to receive the suitcase were expecting to get the Black Oil," Amis added.

"Exactly. I don't know about you, but I'm a little curious why they wanted it."

"Sounds like another mystery for you to solve, Will my man."

Willmore smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is."

Willmore strolled down the sidewalk, walking through a mass of other busy people who were either on their way home or to work. They came to a crosswalk, waiting for the traffic light to change to WALK.

The small cell phone in Willmore's pocket suddenly warbled, and he quickly reached for it.

"Hello," he answered.

"Hey, Craig," Mary said on the other end of the line.

"Oh! Mary, it's you."

"Yep." She smiled. "I wanted to go over a few things that we discovered at the... 'smuggling ring', I guess we could call it."

"Ah, that. Well, I've got some pretty interesting things to share myself."

"Really?"

"Yeah...here, why don't we meet at my apartment? I'm headed there right now."

"Oh, okay."

"I'll see you there then."

"Alright, see ya. Bye."

"Bye." Willmore hung up the phone, just as the street light changed to WALK.

He moved along with the back of the crowd, onto the crosswalk that spanned over to the other side of the street, where other people joined them, going in the opposite direction. The crowd edged over a bit, allowing the flow of people from the other side of the street to pass them.

Willmore suddenly felt strange. Like someone from that other side was searching for him, but he didn't know why. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Every footstep he took seemed to be amplified. He could probably even hear a pin drop right now.

Most the crowd was already on the other side of the street, when a man going in the opposite direction budged out in front of Willmore. He was an older, bearded man, but wearing a very nice suit.

"Mr. Willmore," the mysterious man said.

Willmore looked him over, arching his eyebrows in confusion. "Yeah...how do you know my name?"

The man said nothing, just slowly slipped his hand into his right breast pocket.

"Whoa! What are you doing?" Willmore asked.

The man pulled out a card, some sort of security card by the looks of it.

"Fight the future," he simply said, extending the card toward Willmore.

Willmore hesitantly and slowly reached out his own hand for the card, his index finger and thumb slowly wrapping around one of the thin plastic corners.

A ear cracking gunshot filled the air.

Willmore's heart leapt into his throat, as the man in front of him slowly fell to the ground, blood oozing from his bald head. He looked at the card in his hand, now splattered in blood, then up at a old condemned building to his right, on the other side of the three-way stop. A man still looked out a small window of the condemned building, his sniper rifle aimed forward. Willmore ran from the crosswalk, across the busy street, trying to dodge the oncoming cars. Then he ran into the condemned building, quickly ascending the creaky old steel stairs. Once arriving on the top floor, he drew his pistol.

"This is the FBI! Come out with your hands up!" he yelled, slowly lurking farther and farther into the dusty old room. Willmore scanned the room from top to bottom, trying to find all the places the sniper could possibly be hiding. There were sure enough old, wooden pylons for him to hide behind. He tried to avoid going near any of those. "I repeat, this is the FBI! Come out with your hands up!"

Willmore swivelled around every step, making sure no one was behind him, then quickly turned around the other way. He had that strange image in the corner-of-your-eye sensation. There was a sudden rumble on the old creaky old floorboards. Willmore did a quick spin in the direction of the sound, his gun drawn out in both hands. He didn't have to think twice once he saw the huge sniper rifle placed in the man's hands. He fired his gun only nanoseconds after the image registered on his optical nerves.

The shots sent the man stumbling backward, and crashing through a huge glass window right behind him. Willmore raced toward the window, looking down at the man who now lay in a dumpster outside in a small alley. But then, the man slowly got back on his feet, standing knee deep in trash.

Willmore shook his head. This wasn't possible. He had shot him at least five times in the chest.

The man looked up at Willmore with his cold eyes, but then suddenly sulked over.

The grayish stone began to spread over his chest from his bullet wounds, then down to his legs, and finally up onto his face. The man screamed, but not before the grayish stone crawled back into this mouth and over his eyes.

Willmore looked down in complete shock. This is just like what Mary had described.

Then the man crumbled into a heap of dust and rock, his stone head falling onto the alley floor and cracking in half.

Willmore shook his head again. "What have I gotten myself into," he asked, as he looked down at the blood sprinkled card he held. On the card, written in big bold letters, was: **LEVEL 6**.

ACT II 

Mary sat on Willmore's couch, looking over some case files that she had lain across his coffee table.

Willmore came through the front door, startled to see Mary sitting on his couch.

"Hey Craig. I let myself in. I hope that's okay?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. It was just kind of a shock, that's all." Willmore said. He looked down at the ground. His heart was still pounding in his chest, the adrenaline had been coursing through his veins since the gun shot rang out.

"Well, we examined the material the man crumbled into. It's unidentifiable. I don't think it's a substance that exists...on this planet anyway." She looked up at Willmore. "Craig? Is there something wrong?"

Willmore looked up from the ground, just nodding his head.

"Are you sure? You look like you just saw a ghost."

"How did the man...how did he turn to stone? What caused it?" He finally got the words out.

"Well, like I said, right after the copter blades hit him, he just started to turn to stone," she explained. "Why?"

"After I got off the phone with you..." He reached into his pocket. "I met a man, and he gave me this." He pulled out the small security card from his pocket. It was still speckled in blood.

Mary slowly took it from him. "Craig...there's blood on here."

Willmore let out a sigh. "The man who gave it to me...he was...he was shot right after the card left his hand."

"It looks like this card allows access to a highly restricted area."

"...and whoever possesses it is as good as dead." Willmore finished the thought.

"What secrets are worth killing for?"

"The secrets of the Black Oil. The secrets behind these invincible men that we've come in contact with."

"We've?"

"I spotted the sniper and went after him, shot him at least five times in the chest. He fell two-stories after crashing through a window. When I spotted him in a dumpster below, he wasn't dead." Willmore swallowed hard for the next part. "But then, the stone began to grow across his body, just engulfing him, until he had turned totally into stone, and then he just crumbled."

"He didn't go flying at you or anything?" Mary asked.

"Nah. Just crumbled right there in the dumpster."

"That's odd. The one me and Shanks came in contact with was sent hurling at us after he turned to stone."

"Hmmm..." Willmore simply responded.

"What do you suppose causes it?"

"That's what I don't get. The SWAT couldn't take one out with their rifles, but I took one out with my pistol."

"Maybe they are like a time bomb, just turning to stone whenever their life clock runs out."

"That doesn't make much since. They both died after being assaulted."

Mary shrugged. "Coincidence?"

Willmore shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Maybe, the more you shoot them, the weaker they become, until they turn to stone."

"No, that SWAT would have easily taken him out if that was the case."

Mary nodded. "That's true."

Willmore stood there, still trying to come up with an explanation of what this thing could possibly be.

"Sit down," Mary patted the cushion next to her.

Willmore smiled, sitting next to her on the comfy couch.

"I forgot to show you this," Mary said, grabbing a envelope off the coffee table.

"What is it?"

Mary opened thee envelope, pulling out a small vial, filled with some kind of black powder. "Do you have any idea what this is?"

Willmore took the vial from her hand, and examined it closely, then smiled.

"What? What is it?" she asked.

"Lead."

"Lead?"

"They used this last time, as a decoy, to make us think they were smuggling plutonium, to try and hide the Black Oil from us. I guess the government doesn't want us knowing that it has access to a dangerous alien virus. Don't blame them actually."

"That's another thing. Why would they smuggle the Black Oil, what purpose do they have for it?"

"That one still has me baffled."

"What about this card?" She handed it back to him. "What are you gonna do with it?"

"I'll keep it. Maybe it'll help us figure out what's going on here."

"Okay." Mary looked down at the floor. "Just be careful."

"Don't worry, I will."

Mary got up from the couch. "Well, I gotta get back down to the police station. I still haven't turned in my report on this case. So, I'll catch you later, okay?"

Willmore nodded. "Yeah, okay."

Mary was half-way through the door, then turned around and said, "If you learn anything, give me a jingle."

"Don't worry, I will."

Then she left.

The rain poured down hard, like it often did in Seattle. The sun was down and most were in bed. But near the edge of town, two shadowy figures were wide awake.

It was a cheap apartment building. No one stayed there anymore, or at least that's what most believed.

But in a room upstairs, a man sat in the darkness, at his computer, a small top hat placed on his head. Another man joined him in the dark room, the door slowly creaking open as he stepped in.

"What is it, Jeremiah?" The man asked, his face only illuminated by the computer monitor.

"The FBI has gotten in the way. They were there, at the warehouse. They've seen things they shouldn't. What are we gonna do?" Jeremiah asked.

The man just turned to look at him, then went back to face his computer.

"You're not thinking about killing them are you?"

The man just continued typing at his computer.

"They're FBI!"

"It's never stopped me before," he said.

"We can't just keep killing people who get in the way. The government will become suspicious. They already have. A super soldier was at the warehouse! And besides, they'd never kill an FBI agent. Not without framing them or making it look like a suicide or something."

"I want that FBI agent hunted down and killed! He killed one of our own. It's eye for an eye, Jeremiah. Fight fire with fire."

"It doesn't matter," Jeremiah yelled. "We can't just keep doing this. We made the place look like a smuggling ring. Didn't you suspect the FBI to get involved?"

The man said nothing. "There was nothing else I could do. People would become suspicious if we just left the warehouse with no trace, taking everything and just disappearing. They would wonder why, people would become suspicious. I had to make it look like we were smuggling something else besides the Black Oil."

Jeremiah shook his head in disbelief. "Who would ever suspect Black Oil."

The man stood up from the computer, turning to face Jeremiah. "The government! You think they haven't noticed that the stuff has been disappearing from their experiment labs."

Jeremiah just looked down at the ground. "Why'd we ever get in this mess?"

"The world is about power, Jeremiah. And now, we'll have that power. Once we've collected all the Oil we need, no one will dare stand against us." The man's face suddenly contorted into a deep grimace. "Do you think they already know what we are up to?"

"How?"

"The Super Soldier, where'd he come from?"

Jeremiah said nothing.

"And now, that FBI agent has our shipment of the Black Oil."

"No, he doesn't," Jeremiah said.

"What? What do you mean?"

"We've been keeping surveillance on the surrounding Crime Labs. I was pretty sure the Black Oil would turn up at one of them, and sure enough, it did."

"And?"

"It...it wasn't the Black Oil."

The man's eyes seemed to flare with anger. "What?"

"The FBI agent believes we were set up. I got it all on tape if you'd like to see it."

"They set us up?"

"I'm afraid the government may be trying to hunt us down as we speak."

The man shook his head. "They'll never find us."

"May I remind you, they have their ways."

"Don't give me that crap. This will go down perfectly, if nobody screws it up; you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Once we're done, nobody will dare stand up to us." The man turned back to his computer. On the screen was a head shot of Willmore, below the picture were instructions to find him and take him out.

The man scrolled down to the bottom of the screen and pushed a button that read: SEND.

Willmore sat in a coffee shop, sitting at one of the many tables, and sipping at his cappuccino. He looked over the newspaper, reading an article about the smuggling ring they had busted. The story had been changed quite dramatically in the paper though. It said the smugglers were smuggling plutonium. Willmore shook his head in disbelief.

The door to the coffee shop jingled as a man in a woman came in. They ordered some cappuccinos and sat down at a table not to far from him.

The woman was a brunette, and the man a tough looking New Yorker. They chatted awhile, but then they said something that caught Willmore's attention.

"So how have you been holding up?" the woman asked.

"Pretty good. Nothing's been the same since the X-files closed down. I sure do miss Mulder and Scully." The man sighed heavily.

Willmore quickly got up out of his seat, and went over to the couple. "Excuse me." They looked up from the table and at the man who now stood in front of them. "Did you say the X-files?"

"Yeah," the man said. "Who are you?"

"Oh, sorry. My name is Craig Willmore."

"John Doggett." He shook Willmore's hand. "And this was my partner, Monica Reyes."

Willmore reached his hand out and shook hers as well.

"So...you're familiar with the X-files?" Doggett asked.

"Yeah. I was the investigator into Mulder and Scully's disappearance," Willmore said.

Doggett gave Reyes a sideways look. "Exactly how many times have these guys disappeared?"

Willmore shrugged. "I dunno. I was just the investigator into this disappearance. Where are they now?"

"That's kinda classified," Reyes chimed in.

"Oh, okay. So, did you guys work on the X-files too?"

"After Mulder was gone, I started work on the X-files, then Monica joined me awhile later. I actually started working on the X-files with agent Scully, but then she had a baby."

"Well, good for her."

They looked down at the table sadly. "She had to give him up."

"Why?"

Reyes let out a heavy sigh. "Is there a reason you came over here to talk to us?"

"Well, yeah. Right now I'm investigating a case that's an X-file."

"The X-files is closed, agent Willmore," Doggett said, as the waitress came by and gave them their cappuccinos.

"So what? That doesn't mean I can't investigate this case."

Doggett just looked at him, sipping at his drink.

"What is the case?" Reyes asked.

Willmore handed her the newspaper he had been reading, she read the front page, and shrugged.

"What's so weird about plutonium smuggling?"

"It wasn't plutonium. It was lead. They were never smuggling plutonium in the first place."

"Then what was it?" she asked.

"Black Oil."

Both their eyes shot wide open.

"You have evidence of this?" Doggett asked.

Willmore pulled up a chair to the table and sat down "The dealer handed the men a suitcase, and the contents were a vial of oil, believed to be th Black Oil."

"Wait...what do you mean believed to be?" Doggett rose an eyebrow.

"The dealer lured them to the warehouse to kill them, using the oil as a decoy. Once we came on the scene he attacked the men. Or man I should say. The other tried to escape in a copter."

"This is your evidence?" Doggett asked.

"Why would anyone smuggle oil?"

"He's right John. No one would go to such extremes as to kill over some simple oil." Reyes jumped in.

"And the lead was put there to make it look like they were smuggling plutonium instead of the Black Oil. Once people saw the lead they would immediately expect that it was plutonium, and if they tested it first, well, the men would be long gone by then, taking all evidence of Black Oil with them. They tried this last time, on my previous investigation. Last time the Oil had escaped from an EBE in a train yard, and the government was trying to cover their tracks. But this time, I'm just not sure. They seem to be transporting the Black Oil. Maybe to do an experiment on it."

"This all sounds a bit far fetched if you asked me." Doggett shook his head.

Willmore sat there a moment, then said, "Something else weird happened."

"What?" Reyes asked eagerly.

"The dealer. He was...was strange."

"What do you mean?" Reyes tried to pry deeper.

"The SWAT had pelted him with bullets, and there was no effect. Finally, he had a copter blade go through him, and he...and he turned to stone."

Doggett and Reyes looked at each other, their eyes wide with horror.

Willmore noticed it, and felt a rush of adrenaline course through him. "I came across another one of these strange men. He had shot the guy who gave me this card...," he reached into his trench coat and slid it across the table toward them. "I chased him down and shot him only five times with my Smith and Wesson, and he almost immediately turned to stone and crumbled."

"Have you ever heard of a Super Soldier?" Reyes asked.

"Super what?"

"A Super Soldier. I'm not sure what they are, but they aren't human. A boy named Billy Miles was turned into one of these Soldiers, supposedly by the government."

"How is it exactly that they just turn to stone and crumble?"

"Certain kinds of metal cause this reaction. We're not sure why."

"What do you think about this card?" Willmore slid it closer to her.

She held it up, examining it closely. "It's an access card to some facility."

"A government facility?"

"Listen, Mr. Willmore," Doggett said. "You don't want to get involved in this kind of stuff."

"I have to...I have to stop this. Whatever it is that the government is doing, it needs to be stopped."

"How do you know?" Doggett asked.

"This card. A man gave it to me and told me to fight the future."

"So?"

"And this..." Willmore reached into his coat again and plopped the stiletto onto the table with a metallic clang.

Reyes quickly grabbed it, feeling the cylindrical weapon slide through her fingers. "I read about this. It's a special weapon used for killing aliens. It was used by that alien bounty hunter." She slid the button on the side forward, the little point quickly ejecting with a hiss. "Who gave you this?"

"A mysterious black man. He told me I would have to use it again."

"You've used this?"

"Not me, agent Scully."

The image flashed back into his head. Cook holding the gun on him, telling him to turn the key on the huge steel wall. Then Scully coming up behind him, the stiletto hissing, then the point coming down into Cook's neck, his body slowly falling, and the oil leaking from the back of his head.

Doggett shook his head. "Are you sure you wanna get yourself in this mess?"

"I've been in it before. I can't just sit on my butt while are nation could be in danger. This Black Oil is very dangerous."

"I know, I know," Doggett said. "I was just making sure."

Reyes slid the point back into the weapon, and handed it back to Willmore, along with the security card. "Do you need any help?"

Doggett sighed, not really wanting to get involved.

"If I need any help, I'll let you know. Do you have a phone number?"

Reyes quickly jotted it down on a napkin, then handed it to him. "Be sure to call if you get in any trouble."

"I will." He smiled, and waved goodbye.

After he left, Doggett turned to her and asked, "It's never over its it?"

"Nope. The X-files division is closed, but the X-files are still out there."

Willmore walked down the street outside the coffee shop. But not to far away, a sniper peered in a window sill. The cross-hairs moved over the large crowd of people, until finally they landed on Willmore's head.

"Take the shot." A voice said over the sniper's small earphone.

The cross-hairs were still fixed on Willmore's head, and the sniper placed his finger on the trigger.

A shot rang out.

ACT III 

The sniper slowly fell to the hardwood floor of the small room. Jeremiah stood a few feet behind him, holding a pistol in his hand, still smoking from the blast. A startled voice on the earphone asked what happened. If the sniper had shot, it would have been nearly undetectable with the huge silencer on the end of the rifle.

Jeremiah kicked the sniper over onto his side, and pushed him out of the way a little, making his way to the window sill. He stared out, watching Willmore still walking with the large crowd of people.

Willmore arrived back at the FBI Field Office in Seattle. Shanks stood in the hallway, greeting him immediately.

"Willmore, thank God you're here," Shanks said.

"Why? What's going on?"

"We think the smuggling ring is at it again. Some men have been spotted moving stuff in and out of another nearby warehouse."

"What?"

"Yeah."

Willmore looked worried. "Did you tell anybody else?"

"No, not yet. Only a witness and I knew about it, until now."

"Good. Lets keep this to ourselves."

"Why?" Shanks asked. "What's going on?"

"We can't trust anybody. If we get anybody else involved, they may try to cover up the smuggler's tracks."

"What?"

"Did you read this morning's paper?" He pushed the front page into Shank's face.

Shanks read over it slowly. "What do you expect? The things we saw only end up in the tabloids."

"Can't you see?" Willmore yelled. "They're covering their tracks. Do you see any mention of the Oil?"

"Well," Shanks shrugged, "no."

"They don't even mention that the dealer killed the men. I'm telling you, they are hiding the truth."

Shanks sighed. "I don't know what to say. We can't keep secrets here in the FBI. It's against the law."

"So is whatever these men are doing."

Shanks shrugged. "Okay, fine. This will be our little secret."

"And Mary's."

Shanks agreed. "And Mary's."

"I'll call her, and we'll head to the warehouse immediately."

"Gotcha," Shanks said, quickly heading to his office.

The man stood in front of the large marble building, wearing a long black trench coat and dark shades that hid his eyes. Jeremiah waltzed up the marble steps, toward the mysterious man.

"Hey, are you the man I called?" Jeremiah asked.

"Yes," he simply said.

"I'm Jeremiah." He extended his hand.

The man did not respond to his friendliness at all. Just stared at him. Or so he thought, he couldn't really tell because of the shades.

"I thought we had a business deal to make?" The man said.

"Could I at least get a name?" Jeremiah asked.

"We don't use names in my line of work. But you can call me Angel."

"Yes, Angel. I need you to protect a man named Craig Willmore. He's an FBI agent, and a secret branch of government is trying to destroy him."

Angel raised his eyebrows. "Would you happen to work for this secret branch of government?"

Jeremiah flared. "That's none of your business! I just need this man protected."

"You're the one who's been stealing the Black Oil."

Jeremiah glared at him.

"That stuff is experimental you know. It's not to be used in your own little projects."

"Listen, you don't have anything on me."

"You're just as bad as the colonists if you think about it. You're using the Black Oil as a tool of world denomination."

Jeremiah shook his head. "You just keep an eye on Willmore, and make sure he doesn't get himself in any trouble." Then he started down the marble steps.

"Jeremiah," Angel said.

He turned around angrily. "Yeah, what is it?"

"Why do you care about Willmore so much?"

"He's an FBI agent. The government shouldn't be killing the FBI."

"And killing an FBI would leave behind evidence, wouldn't it? Only the government would go so far as to kill an FBI. And if not our government, then a secret branch in the government. You can only kill so many FBI agents until we start growing suspicious. Don't wanna leave to many dead bodies laying around, eh, Jeremiah?"

Jeremiah glared at him again. "I don't know what you're talking about." Then he continued down the stairs.

"Your days our numbered." Angel whispered, so that Jeremiah couldn't hear.

The silver car blazed down the gravel road. Across the road, was a long shimmering lake, the dark gloomy clouds that hung in the sky reflecting in it, making it look sick and murky. And sitting on the lake were long rows of docks, connecting to different warehouses.

The car pulled up to one of the docks, and Willmore climbed out, Mary crawling out of the back of the car. Shanks still sat in the front, at the wheel, his window rolled down.

"Now remember, you see anything suspicious, call us on the walkie talkie so we can get out of here alive." Willmore leaned into Shank's open window.

"Right." Shanks nodded.

Willmore and Mary then ran down the long dock, and toward warehouse #9. The number was written in big, bold red paint on the front of the warehouse, you couldn't miss it. Willmore quickly looked over both shoulders as they came to a stop in front of the warehouse. He tugged at the huge double wooden doors, then noticed the steel lock that bound them together. He pulled out his FBI standard lock pick and stuck the pointy end into the bottom of the lock. Mary looked around nervously, making sure they weren't about to be taken out or something. The lock snapped open, and Willmore threw the two big doors wide open.

What was in inside was mind boggling.

Willmore and Mary slowly entered the warehouse. Placed in the center was a gurney, and a couple of gurnies stacked on top of each other in a far corner. Willmore walked over to the gurney, examining a small lamp that hovered over it, and a tray that hung out on the side, filled with needles and other doctor tools.

Mary went to another corner of the warehouse. A huge steel, walk-through freezer sat there. She opened the door, cold air hissing from the freezer as the air-tight door unlatched. She looked at Willmore. He strolled away from the gurnies and toward the freezer.

"What do you suppose this stuff is for?" she asked.

"I don't know. It kinda reminds me of the train car that we discovered." The images of the burnt train car flashed through his head, and the video of the doctor they had received, doing alien experiments inside the train cart.

Willmore and Mary stepped into the freezer, huge plumes of cold air pierced their skin every other step. Willmore noticed another freezer in the back; a small steel box that sat on a metal counter. He opened it.

"Mary...you gotta see this," Willmore said.

Mary came rushing over from the front of the walk-through freezer. "What is it?" But then she knew, as she looked into that small metal box.

A rack held at least six or seven of the vials of Black Oil.

"I highly doubt this is Pennzoil," Willmore said.

Shanks sat in the front of the car, sweeping the area with his small pair of binoculars. Suddenly there was knock on the window.

Shanks heart nearly leapt into his throat. He dropped the goggles on his lap, and quickly looked over his shoulder and out the window. A strange man stood outside, looking down at him.

Shanks breathed in heavily, and slowly rolled the window down. "Can I help you?"

A heavy punch was landed straight in Shanks face, knocking him unconscious.

"Stay away FBI," the man said.

Two more mysterious men drove up to the warehouse, climbing out of a large hauling van. A younger man joined them from out the back of the van. It was Jeremiah.

The bald man approached the door, grabbing the already open lock. He gave a sideways glance at the other men. "Somebody's inside."

"Somebody's here," Willmore whispered.

Willmore and Mary ran from the freezer and quickly locked it, then they ran for the entrance, but came to a sliding stop as they saw the double wooden doors slowly creaking open.

"We're not getting out that way," Willmore said.

They quickly ran in the other direction, toward a open doorway that led into a smaller room in the back.

The men bursted in, scanning the place carefully, guns hanging at their sides.

The bald man pointed in different directions, indicating the others where to search for their break-ins. They all split up.

Willmore and Mary peered from the small doorway, watching the men divide up.

One man was approaching their position.

They quickly ducked back inside the small room, searching frantically for an escape. They decided to ascend the wooden stairway in the back of the room.

Willmore put a finger to his lips, telling her to be quite while going up the stairs. Then they tiptoed their way to the top.

The man entered the small room, quickly scanning it. Then his eyes landed on the stairway. He began his ascend.

Willmore and Mary weren't sure how to get out of this one. The small room upstairs had no way out. Willmore noticed a crowbar sitting in a small red toolbox, but decided against clobbering the guy over the head. Their hearts raced as the heavy footsteps grew closer and closer. Then Willmore noticed a steel ladder that hung down to the first floor of the warehouse, in a different area than the gurney and freezer though, hanging only a few feet above a straw covered floor below.

"Down the ladder," Willmore ordered, pushing Mary toward it.

She slowly descended, as Willmore waited eagerly for her to get far enough down so that he could get on the ladder as well.

Then he heard the footsteps in the room. The man had arrived on the top floor, and was waving a flashlight around into the darkness. The flashlight beam landed next to the ladder, but Willmore was gone.

Willmore and Mary tried to descend the ladder as fast as they could. Finally Mary reached the last rung and jumped off, slipping on the soft hay below once she hit it.

Jeremiah heard the boom and ran over to the hay pile, still carrying his pistol at his side. Willmore froze, as he had been helping Mary up, out of the straw.

"Run, run!" Jeremiah shouted in a monotone.

Willmore and Mary didn't think twice. They ran from the hay pile and down a dark corridor that led back to the front of the warehouse.

"Jeremiah! Did you find them?" the bald man rushed up beside him.

"Nah," he lied.

"Then what was that rustling in the hay?"

"Just a rat."

Willmore and Mary continued down the corridor. Mary ran with all her might in her tall high heels, trying to keep up with Willmore. But then, she ended up running into some rakes and shovels that were sitting up against the wall. They clang to the ground with what seemed to be a sonic boom.

The bald man quickly rushed toward the dark corridor, his gun drawn forward now. "Whoever you are, you're not getting out alive!"

Jeremiah just stood there, watching the crazed man run down the corridor. "Come on, Angel, where are you?" he whispered nervously.

The other man upstairs also heard the noise, and leapt from the small opening where the ladder hung, hitting the floor below with a loud boom. He got back to his feet quickly and ran in some obscure direction.

Willmore and Mary could hear the man racing through the dark corridor, every once and awhile bumping into a wall and shouting angrily.

They peeked out behind the corner at the end of the corridor. The coast was perfectly clear for running toward the huge wooden doors of the entrance, so they broke for it, their feet pounding against the floorboards.

They got to the door. It was locked.

The man ran through the warehouse, not really sure where the noise came from. Then he heard the rattling of the lock at the entrance of the warehouse.

Willmore struggled with the lock. It was much harder to pick when you were shakey and nervous.

"Hurry!" Mary whispered.

"Wait," Willmore told her. "I almost got it."

The bald man reached the end of the dark corridor, the other man reaching the corner of a wall on the opposite side of the warehouse's front entrance. And behind that corner was the prize. They both jumped into the front entrance of the warehouse, nearly drawing their weapons on each other. But all they saw was the large wooden doors slam shut.

Willmore and Mary raced across the deck, when they spotted a small tug sitting next to it in the harbor. It was a fellow fisherman, standing beside his boat, apparently catching nothing.

"Sir, you gotta help us. We're being chased," Mary screamed to him.

"Listen, we'll just hide on your boat and..." Fear sank in. Willmore saw the little wooden crates on board the tug, the strange Russian symbol printed on them. The images flashed back into his head. The boxes of lead he had recovered, which had supposedly carried plutonium. This was another cover-up.

Before Willmore could say another word, a heavy crowbar landed on his head.

ACT IV 

Willmore's head pounded with a hellish pain, as he came out of his thick cloud of confusion and slowly into reality. Blood tinkled down from his forehead, he had been wacked pretty hard. He suddenly felt the tight ropes wrapped around his arms, cutting off his circulation. They were both tied up, Mary bound behind him, their backs supporting each other. Their bums felt numb with pain, sitting on the hard wooden floorboard of the warehouse.

They were leaned up against one of the many pylons in the warehouse, sitting in the front entrance where the gurney and other surgical equipment sat. The three men stood before them, the bald man pacing back and forth in front of them.

"It's about time you woke up, agent Willmore," the bald man said, finally ceasing his pacing.

"What are you gonna do?" Willmore asked. "You gonna kill us?"

"Very good suggestion, Agent Willmore." He smiled evilly, then turned to the other man. "Take the woman...drown her."

"No!" Mary screamed.

"You can't take her." Willmore yelled.

"Shut up!" the bald man ordered.

The other man grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up onto her feet. She tried to squirm away, but the ropes held her tightly. "Don't, leave me alone!"

"You think you're gonna get away with this?" Willmore shouted. "We're FBI! They'll be looking for us!"

"He's right," Jeremiah said, a bit nervously.

The man just snickered at Jeremiah. "Drown her!" he told the man again.

He drug her from the warehouse, covering her mouth with his palm, muffling her screams. She continued to try and wiggle from the man's grip, even though she knew she was defenseless.

"You son of a...!" Willmore screamed.

The man put a finger to his lips, shushing him, a menacing laugh escaping his lips. Then he turned to Jeremiah. "You don't hide secrets to well, Jeremiah, you know that?"

Fear shot through Jeremiah at those words, his palms growing sweaty.

"And in this business, that quality is a must."

"What're you talking about?" Jeremiah asked.

He laughed again. "You know very well what I'm talking about. You've been trying to protect the FBI."

"I told you, if we kill FBI, we're walking on thin ice!"

"Who's the boss around here, anyway?" He didn't even let him answer. "That's right, I am. And what the boss says goes. But when you don't follow the boss, you have to face the consequences."

Jeremiah's heart nearly leapt out of his chest, he knew it was over. When you dealt with these people, the slightest mistake meant death.

The man drew a needle, and inside the cylindrical syringe was a black liquid.

Jeremiah's eyes grew wide with terror. He thought it would be a simple gun shot to the head, but obviously the boss wanted him to suffer.

Willmore didn't have to think twice to figure out what was in the syringe.

The man quickly rushed Jeremiah, Jeremiah flailing his arms in a weak attempt to make him back off.

The needle slid into his neck, he could feel the Black Oil beginning to surge through him.

The man quickly withdrew the needle, and stood back to watch the action.

The Black Oil crawled through Jeremiah's face like little worms under his skin, slowly making its way up to his eyes. He collapsed to the floor, shaking as if he had a mild convulsion.

"There's something you don't know about the Black Oil, agent Willmore. It can not only take control of a man's body, but it can be used as a weapon. It can turn a man into a gelatinous mass, breaking down all tissue and bone, while forming a new life within him."

Willmore breathed heavily, his heart seemed to want to burst from his chest. "What kind of life?"

"Oh, I think you know."

Willmore looked at him with wide eyes.

"I've added a virus to this Black Oil, which raises one's temperature so high, that it allows the Oil to form this new creature within the man in only twelve hours."

Jeremiah looked at the man who stood above him in fear. There was nothing he could do. The Black Oil was in him, and could not be removed. He would die shortly, having to feel the virus breaking down all matter in his body. He swore he could already feel it doing its dirty work.

The man drew another needle from over by the gurney, flicking it a little, making sure he had the perfect amount. "Since you're so interested in this experiment, agent Willmore...why not become the experiment?"

Willmore couldn't believe that this was happening. He was sure Mulder and Scully had been in situations like this before; but how did they get out alive? As the man started toward him, he knew he could only count on one thing to save him now. Luck.

The man pushed Mary along, trying to get as far down the dock as possible, hoping no one would see them. Then finally he brought her to a stop along the edge of the wooden planks. She looked down into the water before her, it looked more like death than a beautiful shimmering lake.

"Goodbye," the man whispered softly into her ear.

"Stop!" A voice yelled.

The man glanced sideways, noticing the young man in his long black trench coat standing on the dock with them. It was Angel. Mary also took a glance at him over her shoulder, hoping with all her might that he was there to save her.

The man pulled a gun from his holster, aiming it at Angel. "Get out of here!"

"I don't think so," he said, no fear at all in his voice.

"I said get out of here, or else you'll be taking a swim with the fishes as well."

The crack of a gun pierced their ears, as Mary's attacker fell away from her and into the water. Angel had cloaked his gun under his trench coat, a small hole now in the cloth.

He quickly rushed over to her, untying her from her ropes. "Are you okay?"

She gasped. "Yeah. We gotta help Willmore."

"Where is he?"

"In the warehouse...warehouse #9."

"You stay right here, I'll help him."

Mary laid down on the dock slowly, as Angel raced for the warehouse. Then something hit her: SHANKS!

The bald man kneeled down beside Willmore. "Soon, you'll just be like poor ol' Jeremiah over there: shaking crazily and feeling the virus course through your veins, eating away at your flesh, raising your temperature." He drew the needle toward Willmore's neck. "Goodbye, my friend."

Willmore closed his eyes tightly, clenching his teeth in fear. He could nearly feel the cold metal point touch the soft skin on his neck.

The double wooden doors of the warehouse flew open, and a gun shot was fired. The syringe fell to the floor and bounced across the floorboards, and the man who was once hovering above Willmore, collapsed and hit the floor with a _thud_, a large bloody hole in his bald head.

Angel raced toward Willmore and quickly untied him.

"Who are you?" Willmore asked, as Angel worked on his ropes.

"We don't use names in my line of work, but you can call me Angel."

"You're a saint, huh?"

"Nobody's perfect. I'm just a protector, kinda like a guardian angel." He finished untying Willmore's ropes and quickly got back to his feet.

Willmore slowly pushed himself upward with his tired legs, wobbling a little at first.

"Can I borrow that stiletto of yours?" Angel asked.

"How do you know about that?"

"We know everything. Now, the stiletto?"

Willmore nodded and handed him the weapon.

Angel went over to Jeremiah and pulled him up onto his feet, pushing him up against a table, so that his back faced him.

"Wha...what are you doing?" Jeremiah asked.

"If you die, I want you take that little alien growing inside of you with you," Angel said.

"No, wait!" That was his last words, as Angel brought the long point of the stiletto down into the base of his neck. Then he quickly pulled it back out, Jeremiah's limp body collapsing onto the floor.

Willmore just watched in horror. As the Black Oil spewed from the back of Jeremy's head, it brought back memories of his previous investigation, and Cook's last stand.

"Thanks," Angel said, sliding the point back into the stiletto and handing it back to Willmore.

"What's this all about? What was going on here?" Willmore asked.

Angel started toward the double wooden doors, saying nothing.

"Wait a sec...," Willmore said. "Were you involved in this? This project?"

Angel slowly turned back toward him. "I work for the government. But everyone who works for the government is not the same. Sure I hide the truth from others, but I don't do the things that these men do. They are a secret branch that few people know about. They're using government information and technology for their own uses. Ones that we don't approve of, mind you."

"Why must the truth be hidden from society?"

Angel chuckled. "Do you think you could handle the things I know?"

Willmore just looked at him.

"You're not ready. The things I know would send all of society into panic. And that's why, sometimes, we have to kill to keep the things we know secret. The stuff we know in the wrong hands, could hurt all of mankind."

Then Angel turned back toward the open doors.

"It's not over is it?" Willmore continued to pry.

"It's never over, agent Willmore," he said, not even turning to face him.

"Someone needs to stop these people."

Angel chuckled, turning to face him again. "Who? You?"

Willmore showed him the stiletto. "Why else would I have been given this? Do many government officials go around passing these out?"

"Listen!" Angel shouted. "If you get involved they will hunt you down! Do you want that? Always having to look over your shoulder, having to watch your back, not knowing when they'll finally find you and take you out? That's the mistake Mulder made. He's interfered, and now he'll live the rest of his life in fear, like he always has." He paused. "Don't be a Mulder." Then he turned, heading out the entrance of the warehouse.

Willmore just stood there, going over what Angel had just told him.

That night, Willmore sat on his large sofa, flipping through the channels on his small TV in the corner of the livingroom. Then there was a knock at the door.

"Come on in," Willmore hollered.

Mary walked in, giving him a little wave as she strolled over to the couch. "Can I have a seat?"

"Yeah, yeah." Willmore moved over from his lying position to give her some room.

She sank into the cushions next to him, releasing a huge sigh.

"Shanks's okay?" Willmore asked.

"Yeah, just a minor bruise on his forehead."

"Good, good."

"So, how are you holding up?" Mary asked.

"I'm pretty good."

"After almost being injected with Black Oil, I'd expect you to still be a bit shook up."

Willmore laughed. "I'm more worried about what is in store for us next."

"Next?" Mary asked.

"It's not over Mary. These people are still out there and they must be stopped." He breathed in heavily. "And it's my quest to stop them."

"How do you know it's your quest?"

"The stiletto...and this." He held the security card upward.

Mary gave him a strange look.

"Fight the future," he whispered to himself.

The rain poured down heavily, as several mysterious men wearing long trench coats scattered around the warehouse, loading things into a large van.

"Get it out of here! Everything!" the leader with the small top hat ordered.

"Sir, we're ready to go." Another man rushed up to him, breathing heavily.

"Good. Let's get outta here." They quickly left the warehouse and slammed the double wooden doors shut.

The gurnies, the operating tools, the walk-in freezer, everything was gone. The warehouse was completely bare, except for three small wooden crates that sat in the center of the room. And printed on their side, in a thick black ink, was the Russian symbol.


End file.
